Love Story
by SpobyFicStalker
Summary: "Part of her still felt like the words seemed almost sickeningly romantic for her… because when had Spencer Hastings ever believed in fairytales?" Spencer and Toby. Inspired by the events of 5x12. Oneshot.


A/N: So how about that finale, huh? :) I got a request to do a 5x12 fic, and how could I possibly turn that down when I've basically been bombarded with feels ever since the episode aired? However, since I had the feeling a lot of people would be writing similar scenarios, I decided to throw in something extra for you guys. Let's say that the second half of this story is… a surprise.

Thanks to everyone who took the time to review Requiem. All the time I see complaints about hate on the internet so I feel like the luckiest person alive that you all seem like such amazing individuals. I've had the honor of exchanging PMs with a few of you, and my respect for all of you has only grown. So in case you were wondering – yes, I did kind of write this fic to make up for the tears I might have caused with the other one. This is all for you guys.

* * *

><p><strong>Love Story<strong>

_Part One – Once Upon A Time_**  
><strong>  
>It was as if the elevator of Rosewood Memorial Hospital had never moved so slowly. Spencer Hastings had to contain the juvenile urge to bang on the doors like a lunatic and shout at it to hurry the hell up, feeling tears of chagrin prickle in the corner of her eyes.<p>

She shot ahead once the doors opened, collapsing against the front desk and ignoring the disapproving stare sent to her by the administrative clerk behind it.

"Cavanaugh," she gasped breathlessly, "Toby."

The woman shot her a pointed look and checked her computer. "Are you immediate family?" she asked, her eyes never leaving the screen.

"Yes," Spencer answered without thinking.

The clerk didn't look entirely convinced but shared his room number anyway, also offering up that he had only just settled in. Spencer called thanks over her shoulder, already hurrying in the appropriate direction. Rationally, she didn't understand why she felt such a desperate urge to be near him. She'd spoken to him on the phone mere minutes after the truck crashed, only to heart that he was fine – his leg was jammed and hurt like a bitch, but other than that he barely had a scratch on him and the ambulance had already been called.

Still, the girls had had to talk her out of immediately rushing to the hospital, reasoning that it would be a while before she'd be allowed to see him anyway. They convinced her to head to the loft instead to pick up a change of clothes for him – his favorite red hoodie and some sweatpants – and while she was there she also put together a set of her own clothing that she came across in his closet.

She dropped both bags to the floor once she entered the room, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes landed on him. Unable to speak, she stumbled over to the bed, her fingers instinctively brushing back the hair from his temples as her forehead connected with his. His arms came up and around her in return, and she made a conscious effort to take a few deep breaths in a feeble attempt to get herself under control.

"You're shaking," he murmured as his hands rubbed soothing circles in the small of her back.

And she was. Her whole body trembled, from her knees to her shoulders to her fingers. Toby tightened his hold around her waist, pulling her all the way into his frame and burying his face in her throat.

"It's okay," he mumbled, his voice muffled by her skin. "It's fine."

"No, it's not," she protested weakly, finally having found her voice. She found the courage to open her eyes and chanced a glance at his leg. He'd texted her before that it was broken in two places, but it still shocked her to see how cast ran from his foot all the way up his calf to the skin above his knee. She looked away, feeling like an unimaginable coward for not even being able to look at it.

"Are you in pain?" she asked, pulling back a little, suddenly needing the reassurance of his eyes.

He shrugged with a slight shake of his head. "Not much. I'm on some pretty serious painkillers."

Spencer nodded, her face ashen. She would have thought this information would make her feel better, but the fact that he even needed the sedatives was enough to make her feel the bitter monster of guilt squeezing its bony fingers around her neck.

"You called your dad, right?" she changed the subject, desperate not to dwell on her role in the events that had landed him here or she might really lose it.

"I did," he answered, sounding like he was deliberately trying to make his tone light, "but he still can't drive and apparently my stepmom is too tired to bring him over here, so… I don't think he'll be popping in anytime soon."

She bit back a sour reply. Toby's father had yet to be relieved of his own cast, so Spencer couldn't help but feel it should be fresh in his mind how Toby had been there without a moment's hesitation when he was the one in the hospital with a broken leg. Her boyfriend had confessed later that it had been painfully awkward, and that they had barely exchanged five words all night, but that didn't change that he stuck around. The fact that his father didn't deem it necessary to grant him the same courtesy made her want to track the man down and rip him a new one.

She and Toby had actually had a similar discussion barely a week ago when she wondered out loud if his father would be attending his graduation ceremony in Harrisburg. Toby had simply shrugged his shoulders and said, "I don't think so."

She frowned, taking note of how her boyfriend wasn't meeting her eyes. "Did you ask?"

He hesitated, obviously not thrilled be having this conversation. "Not in so many words. But he knows I'm graduating and he hasn't offered to come, so…" Again, he shrugged. "I don't think I should expect any surprises."

Frustration welled up inside her, and she tried with all her might to quench in down. No matter in how many ways Daniel Cavanaugh failed as a father, she knew Toby still didn't like when she badmouthed him.

"I thought he was supportive of you doing this?" she tried, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.

Sighing, he looked conflicted. "He likes it better than carpentry," he allowed. "But that doesn't mean he's going to come all the way to Harrisburg just to watch me get a badge."

"Well, I will be there," she told him, tilting her face to catch his eyes. "I'll put on a kickass dress and maybe turn a few heads, and when one of your cop school buddies comes onto me I'll tell them, 'Nope. I belong to officer Cavanaugh.'"

This got a smile out of him, and he pulled her closer. "You don't need a kickass dress for that," he mumbled against her skin before brushing his lips to her neck.

She looked at him now, in bed wearing a hospital gown, his leg elevated and wrapped in plaster. "I'm sorry you didn't make it to the ceremony," she told him in a small voice, feeling her throat close up. "I… I was really looking forward to seeing you up there… in your uniform…"

Her eyes threatened to flood and she looked away. It was most likely the only ceremony he would ever have. Graduating high school by GED meant no cap and gown, and unless his ambitions changed drastically he wouldn't ever be standing on stage at a college graduation ceremony either.

It seemed the universe had once again sabotaged his one chance at having something normal.

"Hey…" His hand reached up to brush back a strand of her hair, his gaze searching out hers. She tried to smile for him, but judging by the pained outlook in his clear blue eyes it didn't amount to much.

"Do something for me, okay?" he requested, and instantly she nodded. "Get me my pants. My uniform pants."

She was puzzled but did as he asked, almost relieved to keep busy. His uniform was scattered in a mess across one of the chairs – the person who had put it there obviously hadn't put too much effort into making sure it stayed wrinkle-free. She pulled his pants out from the pile, unable to stop herself from straightening out his shirt in the process.

He immediately went for the right pocket when she handed the trousers over to him, an almost silly grin on his face as he pulled out a small, shiny item. It took her a few moments to realize it was the watch she'd presented him with just hours before, and she looked at him in confusion while he had something close to bliss on his face.

"I was worried it got damaged in the crash," he explained softly. "But it's still good as new."

Spencer felt an annoyance she couldn't explain creep through her veins. "That's what you were worried about?" she snapped. "The watch?"

She threw her hands up in frustration, and before she knew it her voice was raised and she was teetering on the brink of hysteria. "What about your leg? What about the fact that you've now broken two limbs in less than a year because of me?"

Toby's eyes widened with every word she shouted, obviously not having anticipated this outburst. "Whoa… Spence…"

"No," she protested, shoving his hands away, not wanting his comfort when she felt it was the last thing she deserved. She turned her back to him and started walking away, trying to flee not him but her own self-loathing. He called her name – and again, when her feet didn't stop moving.

"Spencer! Do you really want me to get out of bed and follow you?" There was an amused kind of impatience in his voice now. "Because I will."

She stopped dead in her tracks and slowly turned around to see he was already pulling himself up.

"No," she breathed, and was by his side again is three big steps, pushing him back against the pillows. "No, no, no…"

He grappled for her elbow and lifted the corner of his comforter with his other hand. "Get in here."

"Toby, I–"

"Get your ass in here, Spencer Hastings."

She closed her mouth. Before she realized what she was doing, she had reached down and was already pulling her boots off. It wasn't often that he got sassy with her – that was more her style and they both knew it – but when he did, she usually found herself obeying like a dumbstruck child.

She crawled in with him and he tucked her into his folds, surrounding her with both arms and kissing her hair as her feet curled around his unharmed leg. Her head landed on his shoulder and it was as if her heartbeat immediately slowed. She let out a sigh that came from deep within her.

He didn't force her to talk, didn't try address her upheaval, and for that she was more grateful than he would ever know.

Tears followed not long after; tears she had been holding back since she heard the truck crash hours ago. He still didn't say anything. He just held her tighter, his fingertips repeatedly moving from her temple through her hair to the back of her head in a soothing gesture.

"You scared me…" she finally rasped brokenly, once the tears had more or less subsided.

"I know." He pressed a warm kiss against her forehead. "I'm sorry…"

She shook her head, sitting up a little. "You don't have to apologize for anything."

"Neither do you," he countered easily. She shot him a look that suggested she believed otherwise, and he quickly added, "You don't. It's not your fault, and it wasn't last time either."

She didn't say anything, for the simple reason that she knew they would never agree. She never meant for him to get hurt – in fact, she had gone to ridiculous lengths to avoid this very notion – but the truth was that both times he'd ended up in the hospital with broken bones, it was a direct result of her actions. Nothing he could say or do would ever change that.

"I want to explain, okay?" she spoke, wondering why she was pleading. "I want to tell you everything."

His eyes brightened a little, as if he were surprised that he wouldn't need to drag the truth out of her this time. He nodded, looking at her with all the patience in the world.

Words spilled from her mouth. As liberating as it was to come clean to him, there was also always that lingering anxiety that it would come back to bite them both in the ass. These last few weeks, she and the girls had been extensively discussing what their lives would look like without -A. They fantasized about having hobbies, and waking up with petty worries of midterms, silly rumors and school dances. But Spencer hadn't said a word about the thing she yearned for most.

It was looking at Toby and not having to carefully consider what to tell him and what to keep quiet. She loathed the fact that it was even a choice, but so often it felt like a never-ending battle between Toby as a person and the relationship she shared with him.

It occurred to her that many people probably didn't even understand the difference. It was something she'd had learned the hard way, after all. And she knew that if it came down to it, she would choose Toby every time. She would lie to him a hundred times if it meant he would be safe.

He let her talk for quite a while – about Mona and Radley and Bethany Young. He expressed major concern about the arrest warrant issued in her name, so she did her best to assure him that they wouldn't likely get much done on Thanksgiving Day. It made him relax slightly but there was still a desperate glint to his eyes that made her question, again, if telling him the truth had been the right move.

"You should probably go home, get some sleep," he told her as the lights turned off in the hallway, the night shift made themselves scarce and the whole hospital seemed to be in a state of slumber.

"No," she said quickly. "No. I'm not going anywhere. I won't let you be alone."

For a moment, he looked like he was about to fight her on it. Instead he just sighed, guiding them both into a horizontal position once again. "You're too stubborn for your own good," he muttered in her hair.

She opened her mouth to argue but he beat her to the punch. His lips covered hers and lingered, and her fingers clutched at his hair urgently.

"Thank you for the watch," he whispered. "I can't explain what it means to me."

She shook her head and placed her fingers against his lips. Soon her mouth replaced their touch and they indulged in another heartfelt kiss, simultaneously pulling each other closer to the center of the twin bed.

They fell asleep to the gentle ticking of the watch on the bedside table. Toby had placed it there with the lid open, and Spencer could just barely make out the letters from where her head rested on his chest. Part of her still felt like the words seemed almost sickeningly romantic for her… because when had Spencer Hastings ever believed in fairytales?

Two years ago, she wouldn't have been able to imagine using this kind of terminology with anyone, and not only because it would have left her feeling much too vulnerable.

She still vigorously remembered when she first found out about Aria's affair with Ezra Fitz – how she had been happy for her friend, but also the tiniest bit envious. She couldn't imagine ever having that kind of a romance, for the simple reason that she was a Hastings, and Hastings' didn't operate much on emotions. Hastings' used their heads. They searched for love through intellectual prowess, through high social standards and if possible, someone who would contribute money to the family. Spencer hadn't necessarily liked or approved of this practice, but it was the way her family had rolled for generations and it seemed almost unavoidable that she would end up doing the same thing.

She still didn't really believe in fairytales. Not the way Aria did, anyway. But she did know she had defied every rule in the Hastings book. She had fallen very much in love using every part of her _except_ her head, and it was the most real and honest emotion she had ever felt in her life.

She wasn't in love with the idea of love like Aria was. She was in love with him. Only him. Deeply, passionately and irrevocably so; and if that meant she had to settle for being a bit of a romantic, it was a sacrifice she was more than happy to make.

* * *

><p><em>Part Two – Happily Ever After<em>

"Daddy," Cleo piped up, climbing onto the armchair that her father currently occupied. "Daddy, show us the watch again."

She had barely spoken the words before Eloise was at his side as well, pulling herself up on his lap. Lawrence had apparently heard his sister's request from the other room because he, too, came storming in to avoid missing out on all the fun.

Toby smiled as his children gathered around him, and Spencer couldn't help but marvel at the way he always managed to fit all three of them into his personal space without them poking or sitting on each other.

"What watch?" he asked in mock innocence. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about…"

"_The_ watch!" they cried out, and Lawrence added, "The one Mom gave you!"

"Oh, that one," Toby relented – as if he hadn't known all along. The kids nodded eagerly, and with exaggerated languidness he reached into his pocket for the tiny, round item.

He held it up to them, then made to store it away once again with a satisfied, "There."

"Daddy!" the kids whined in frustration. "The inside! We want to see inside!"

Spencer watched their eyes twinkle in excitement as Toby finally stopped teasing and pressed the miniscule button that popped the watch open. Their little fingers automatically grasped at it, but Toby had mastered the art of anticipation by now was already holding it out of the their reach.

"Careful," he said gently. "I'm going to hold on to it for now. But you guys can look, okay?"

They nodded and leaned in closer. Spencer knew the actual clock didn't interest them half as much as the letters engraved on the inside of the lid did.

Spencer had started teaching their children to read at the ripe age of four, and now – at five and a half – all three of them were absorbing every word they could find like malnourished baby birds.

But Spencer also knew that they didn't have to be able to read to know the words on the inside of the watch. They could recite them from memory, just like she and Toby could.

"It's quarter past seven," Cleo declared with a certain sense of pride that she could now also tell time, and Spencer nearly laughed. At least one of them was paying attention to more than just the engraved words.

"It is," Toby agreed neutrally. "Which means it's almost bedtime."

Their trio groaned, and Cleo clapped one hand in front of her mouth when her brother bitterly commented, "Thanks a lot, Cleo."

Toby didn't seem in a big hurry to rush the kids to bed though, and if Spencer was honest, neither was she. It seemed she would never tire of watching Toby interact with their offspring – so much so that it could make her lenient with bedtime in a heartbeat. Against her better judgment.

Spencer knew her husband had spent a large portion of his life feeling like someone who didn't belong. He'd been the quiet kid in elementary school, the loner in middle school and the freak in the years of high school he had actually attended. She didn't think he ever anticipated being Mr. Popular – anywhere – but that was exactly who he was in his current home. The delight on their children's faces when he entered the room was indescribable, yet she could still detect the slight disbelief in his eyes whenever one of them squeezed their little arms around his neck – just because.

"Can I have it?" Cleo was asking now, and Spencer realized it was about the watch again. "When I'm all grown up?"

Toby smiled at her. Cleo was the kind of kid that got things done. When she wanted something she asked for it, and when she didn't like something she made it perfectly clear, sometimes mortifyingly so. "Sorry, pumpkin," Toby told her, chucking a finger under her chin. "I'm afraid it's for your brother. It's kind of a tradition for a man to get his father's watch."

Lawrence looked pleasantly surprised and fist-pumped the air with a victorious, "Yeah!"

But Cleo only pouted. "That's not fair," she pointed out authoritatively. "Mommy says boys and girls are equal. They should get the same things."

Before Toby could back her up, Spencer had decided it was high time she joined this conversation. "Don't worry, girls," she appeased, coming to stand before them with her hands on her hips. "I've got plenty of jewelry upstairs with your names on it."

The kids grinned and made room for her, all three of them moving to their father's left leg and the arm of the chair, leaving his right completely for their mother. Toby held out an arm and Spencer positioned herself into the open space on his thighs as his strong hand automatically found the tension in her lower back. Her legs bumped with her children's, and Toby reflexively snatched Eloise before she tumbled off the side after an accidental nudge from her sister; but once they were all settled Spencer couldn't help but notice how her husband had comfortably managed to fit their entire family into one sofa chair.

Cleo, it seemed, wasn't giving up. "Can I have the Scrabble board then?" she requested. "The one you never let us use?"

Spencer felt an infinite sense of wonder as she looked at her dark-haired, dark-eyed daughter. Sometimes it was like looking into a mirror. "You'll have to ask your father," she said lightly. "It's not mine."

"Can I, Daddy?" Cleo didn't waste any time, her Hastings eyes wide and hopeful. "Can I please have your Scrabble board?"

Toby couldn't hide his amusement if his life depended on it. All three kids loved reading, but it was Cleo who took a particular pleasure in being given random letters and making her own words. Most days she would beg and badger her siblings into playing with her until one of them caved. Spencer knew all her children were of well above average intelligence, but by some grace of God only Cleo had inherited the competitive gene. Lawrence and Eloise didn't seem to mind so much how their sister won almost every time.

"I think that would be all right," Toby agreed, causing Cleo to let out a shriek of excitement. Her parents barely had time to cringe at the unexpected obnoxious noise before Cleo had sobered again.

"What about Ellie?" she said, looking between her mother and father anxiously. "What will Ellie get?"

Spencer's eyes instantly went to her timid and most soft-spoken child. Eloise sometimes struggled with standing up for herself, but luckily she had a sister who didn't hesitate to do it for her. "Well," she Spencer slowly. "I think I may have something for you, peanut. And it's mine to give away this time."

"What?" All three kids leaned in closer, and Spencer almost laughed because she felt like she was telling a juicy horror story instead of promising away objects that most likely wouldn't become theirs for another fifty years.

When she mentioned the rocking chair in her and Toby's room, Lawrence and Cleo looked at their sister with admiration in their chocolate eyes. They all loved that rocking chair, they all loved the idea that their father had crafted it for their mother with his bare hands – but it was Eloise who had unofficially deemed it her favorite reading spot. It was Eloise who asked to be held in it whenever she was sick (a tradition that had started when she was only two. Spencer had come home from a rare late night meeting to find her other two kids asleep in bed, and Toby quietly rocking Eloise in the rocking chair after she had apparently woken up complaining of a tummy ache and subsequently threw up her dinner).

"Is that okay?" Spencer asked carefully, suddenly apprehensive that maybe she hadn't been paying close enough attention to the child that reminded her most of Toby.

Eloise had a way of picking up on subtleties that went right over Lawrence and Cleo's heads. Until this moment, Spencer had been so caught up in the delight of the kids taking interest in important parts of her and Toby's past, that she hadn't at all realized the morbidity of them telling their five-year-old triplets what would be left to whom in their parents' will. She felt certain that to Lawrence and Cleo it was all fun and games, but with Eloise it was so hard to tell. Not only did she think more deeply about things than most kids her age, she was also so introverted that she didn't necessarily tell anyone if something was bothering her.

But then, a smile that could put the sun to shame washed over their daughter's face as she crawled into her mother's lap, and Spencer breathed a little easier.

"What does it mean?" Eloise asked earnestly, looking up at Spencer with her big, blue eyes. "On the inside of the watch?"

Spencer couldn't help but smile, thinking this was another typical example of how this kid rolled. Lawrence and Cleo fired questions straight away, sometimes till both parents were exhausted, but Eloise always processed a little before opening her mouth.

"Excellent question," Cleo chimed in, undoubtedly mimicking her teacher. "How can you be someone's _once upon a time_?"

Spencer shared a private smile with her husband. As two adults in their early thirties, and it was only now starting to dawn on them how impossibly young they had been when they said and wrote such dedicated things to each other. She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment he became the person she turned to for everything, but she did know it was well before she'd had those words engraved.

"When you read your books," she began her explanation, "where does _once upon a time_ come in to the story?"

"The beginning!" all three kids said once.

"Correct," Spencer confirmed, and they beamed. She looked into Toby's sapphire eyes, suddenly unable to glance away. "That's what your daddy is. He's my beginning."

She said no more, knowing the kids were too young to possibly understand in how many ways Toby had brought her to life. How before him, she ate and slept and went to school, even laughed and engaged in activities she considered fun at the time… but when she searched for a word to describe her essence the best she could come up with was _existing_.

He made her look at things differently – like she could suddenly see color after sixteen years of black and white. It was as if she had been raised on vanilla ice cream, thinking there was only one flavor and believing it was the best thing there was, and suddenly with him there was not only to chocolate and strawberry, but also pistachio and nougat and rocky road.

He'd surrounded her with a sense of love that she'd never known before, and she wore it like armor – because nothing could ever touch her when she had that love. Not really. Not when all her worries seemed insignificant in comparison.

She looked at him now, into his honest, open features, and realized she'd never explained any of this to him in so many words. But that was only because he already knew. It was one of the most infuriating _and _endearing things about him. He always knew.

"I think it's time for bed," Toby finally stated, earning deep pouts of protest from his three adoring children.

"Wait," Cleo said, grabbing his hand as he set her gently on the floor, then looked up at her mother. "Who gets your Scrabble necklace?"

"I do." Spencer shooed them in the direction of the stairs, only half-joking when she added, "I'm getting buried in that."

Cleo wrinkled her nose in disgust just as Lawrence laughed and yelled, "Awesome!"

Toby cracked up while Spencer rolled her eyes. Lawrence was easily the most well-adjusted out of the three. In contrary to both his sisters, he demonstrated none of that Hastings anxiety. Being blessed with all Spencer's talents and Toby's more laid-back attitude, he walked through life like it was a breeze. He adored his mother and very much looked up to his father; he took great pleasure in teasing his sisters but was also known to show protective tendencies when another kid so much as looked at them cross-eyed.

"Upstairs," Spencer commanded in her best mom-voice. "Now. Put on your pajamas and brush your teeth, we'll be up in a minute to tuck you in."

Toby lazily kicked at their bottoms with his bare foot, causing them to squeal and pick up their pace. By the time Spencer heard them stomping up the stairs she had lowered herself back into her husband's lap. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him with all her love.

She had spent their teenage years repeatedly wondering if he would be better off somewhere far away from her, far away from the messes she created and others created for her. At times she had truly hated herself for needing him so desperately and for being too selfish to tell him to run. He would tell her over and over how she was the best thing that ever happened to him, and while there was no doubt in her mind that he believed it wholeheartedly it was something she constantly struggled with, constantly questioned.

But somewhere between the demise of her high school demons and getting married to him and having babies with him, she had come to think otherwise. She had come to thank whatever higher power there was that she held on to him so tightly when her life was a war zone. She would look into the faces of their children and find she was incapable of imagining anything different.

It had been worth it in the end. Somewhere along the line she had come to believe in fairytales – or maybe only in their fairytale. Because not only was he her once upon a time, he was also her happily ever after.

* * *

><p>AN: Okay so I used the same Spoby kids from one of my previous stories. Sorry if that's lame. It's just that I put a ridiculous amount of time into thinking up characters that once I've found ones that I like I tend to stick to them. Anyway. Thank you for reading!


End file.
